


Songs About Hips and Hearts

by coreopsis



Category: Alkaline Trio (Band), Bandom, Fall Out Boy, Panic At The Disco
Genre: AU, M/M, RPS - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-21
Updated: 2010-05-21
Packaged: 2017-10-09 15:23:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/88849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coreopsis/pseuds/coreopsis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU in which Bob and Patrick own a music store and Spencer gives drum lessons.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Songs About Hips and Hearts

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jardinjaponais](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jardinjaponais/gifts).



"I can't do this anymore, Bob. I have to hire someone," Patrick says over the phone, sounding exhausted, and just a touch whiny when he adds, "Especially if you're going to keep leaving town to work on your friends' records."

Bob is trying to cross a street in LA without getting run over, so he's not really paying much attention to Patrick's complaints. He just says, "Do whatever you gotta do. I think I can wrap this up in one more week. But if it goes into two, I'll let you know."

***

Of course, it goes into two, and Bob has never been so happy to see the lights of Chicago when his plane finally touches down at Midway after being delayed for three hours. While he waits for his luggage, he sends Patrick a text to let him know he's back and that he'll see him tomorrow.

He goes straight home and sleeps for less than five hours but still wakes up a whole hour late to work the next morning because he forgot to set his alarm. He rushes in the door with an apology on his lips, but comes to a stuttering halt when some kid in a pale purple t-shirt, white hoodie, and tight jeans comes out from behind the counter. His smile lights up his blue eyes when he says, "Welcome to B&amp;S Music. Can I help you find anything?"

"Who the hell are you?" Bob says without thinking.

The kid cocks a hip and arches a brow, his soft pink mouth drawing up just short of a sneer. "I'm Spencer. Who the hell are you?"

Bob opens his mouth to answer but just then Patrick comes out of the practice room with a student and says, "Bob, you're back!"

"Yeah." Bob nods at the student and says, "Hey, Nate. I can do your lesson next time, if you want."

"Cool," Nate says with a grin and heads for the door. "See you next week."

Patrick walks over to the counter and says, "So I see you've met our new drum teacher. I'll be glad to go back to just guitar lessons now. I mean, I love the drums, don't get me wrong..."

Bob kind of stops listening to whatever Patrick's babbling about because he's trying to connect the words 'drum teacher' to the girly kid standing in front of him with the bitchy look on his face. And the hips. What the fuck is up with the hips? Bob drags his gaze away from them and tries to listen to what Patrick is saying. "...so Andy is coming in tomorrow morning to look at some cymbals and maybe a second kick drum, and then I've got three lessons back to back in the afternoon. Now that you're back, you can take over your regulars."

"Yeah," Bob says, glancing at the clock over the counter. "Patrick, can I talk to you in the office for a minute before my eleven o'clock gets here?"

"Sure." Patrick turns and beams at the kid with the hips. "Spencer can watch the front."

***

"What the fuck, Patrick?"

"What?" Patrick snaps and Bob takes a deep breath and tries to sound less pissed off.

"You hired a _kid_. Are you sure he's actually a boy?" Okay, so he doesn't actually sound less pissed off.

"Yeah, he's young, but he is a grown man and he's really--" Patrick starts and then interrupts himself to say, "What the fuck, like girls can't play drums?"

"No, girls can totally play drums." Maybe he was completely out of line with that question, but still... "That is not the point."

"Then what's your problem with Spencer?"

"He's--I don't know yet, but I don't like him."

Patrick sighs and shakes his head. "You're being ridiculous."

Bob snorts. "You date Pete Wentz."

"Yeah, so I fucking _know_ ridiculous when I see it."

"Shut up," Bob says, and cringes at how weak that is. But fuck it, he's still tired.

***

Bob pretty much ignores Spencer for the rest of the week. Except for when Spencer cocks a hip and smirks at him, then Bob ignores him _even harder_. Patrick rolls his eyes a lot and says "Ridiculous" under his breath in this sing-songy way that gets on Bob's nerves.

"Yeah, yeah," Bob grumbles at Patrick and tries to relax, but when Spencer brushes by him to go into the practice room, Bob stiffens and frowns. Stupid kids with their stupid sexy hips and shiny hair. Wait...what? Bob shakes his head and goes to greet a regular customer who is usually good for a sale.

***

"So." Spencer pins Bob with a look that is far too old for his face. "I know you don't like me."

"I don't not like you," Bob says, trying not to sound as defensive as he feels. "I don't have any feelings for you one way or the other."

Spencer licks his lips and Bob does not watch the motion of his tongue at all. "Liar."

"I am sort of your boss, you know."

"Patrick hired me and signs my paychecks," Spencer points out. "So, not really."

"Obviously I've given him too much power around here."

"Oh, yeah, _that's_ your problem. Obviously," Spencer says and rolls his eyes. Bob tries not to watch him walk away but fails miserably.

***

Bob comes back to the store one afternoon to see the flip-flop wearing stoner from the coffee place down the block draped all over his counter laughing at something Spencer is telling him. The other one that usually accompanies the flip-flop guy--the one with the scarves and vests-- is picking out a Beatles song on one of the acoustic guitars from the display.

"Put it down if you're not going to buy it," Bob snaps as he walks by on his way to the office.

"Sure, Bob, whatever you say," the stoner kid in the paisley shirt says. Bob probably should know his name but he can't be bothered to remember it. Neither of the stoners ever buy anything anyway, just come in to hang around and distract Spencer from his job.

Bob looks back before he shuts the office door and see Spencer scowling at him. Bob shuts the door, but finds himself smiling a little bit once Spencer can't see him.

***

The next morning Spencer and the two stoners are hanging around outside when Bob comes to open the store. The one with the beard and the flip-flops hands Bob a big cup of coffee that's still hot and says, "Morning, Bob. Thought you could use this."

"Thanks...uh?" Bob says and takes the coffee in one hand while he fits his key in the door with the other.

"Jon," the one with the beard and flip-flops says and then points at the other stoner who is wearing pinstripes today. "And he's Ryan?"

Bob nods at them both and then goes into the store to start opening up. He's got an early lesson and about a million administrative things to take care of today. He absently sips the coffee and realizes it's really good and just the way he likes it. He glances back through the windows and sees Spencer watching him while he says goodbye to his friends.

***

"Hey, Brendon," Spencer says, with a bright smile that makes Bob narrow his eyes. He's never seen Spencer smile like that at anyone else. He's probably fucking Brendon. Not that Bob cares.

"Hey, Spence," Brendon says, then grins when he looks over and sees Bob. "Bob! I got that snare you recommended. It sounds awesome."

Bob smiles because of course it does. He knows his drums. "That's great. What did you need today?"

"I can help you, B," Spencer says quickly and tries to maneuver himself between Bob and Brendon.

Bob snorts and gently shoves him out of the way. "Let a professional handle this."

"I am a fucking professional," Spencer snaps, and yeah, there goes the hip again. Bob drags his eyes away from Spencer and ignores how the hand that just touched Spencer's chest is tingling. He smiles at Brendon, who is watching them with big eyes.

"Um, I just..." Brendon looks from Bob to Spencer and back to Bob. "I needed some picks."

"I know just the ones you like," Spencer says. "I'll go get you some."

Bob does not watch the way Spencer walks over to the section where the guitar accessories are. He keeps his gaze firmly on Brendon, who is starting to look uncomfortable.

Brendon reaches into his messenger bag and pulls out a piece of paper covered with a messy scrawl of notations, and shows it to Bob. "I've been working on this and wanted to see what you think."

Spencer comes back and says, "You could have asked me."

"Oh yeah, no, I want your opinion too," Brendon says quickly.

Bob takes the paper over to a drum kit and sits down. He reads over it carefully again before trying out the drum lines that Brendon has written.

Spencer goes over and snatches up the paper and sits down at another kit.

And then it is on.

Spencer plays a bit, then Bob plays a bit, then Spencer, then Bob. Brendon watches them both, his head turning back and forth like he's watching a tennis match.

When they finally stop playing and just glare at each other, Brendon says faintly, "Yeah, I guess that works."

Bob has to grudgingly admit that Spencer might actually know what he's doing. But he's not saying it out loud. He nods at Brendon and says, "Good job."

He ignores Spencer as he goes into the practice room to prepare for his next lesson.

***

"Sure, I think I know the kind of clamp you want. Let me show you what we've got," Bob says as he leads the customer, a guy with a haircut that looks stupid on kids half his age, over to the drum accessories only to find everything has been moved around. The keys are over by the tuners, the packs of cymbal hardware have been moved to another shelf, and all the clamps, cymbal arms, and brackets are at the opposite end of the aisle from where they used to be. It takes him an extra twenty-five seconds to find the Roland mounting clamp he wanted to sell, and that is unacceptable.

He waits until the customer leaves and then another five minutes until Spencer's two o'clock leaves, and then he goes into the practice room. Spencer is sitting on the chair next to the drum kit, writing something in his notebook. His face is serious and concentrated. He looks older than he usually does and kind of hot and that just pisses Bob off more.

Spencer glances up, and Bob is distracted from what he wanted to say for a few awkward seconds, but then he remembers. "Have you been moving shit around again?"

"You'll have to be more specific," Spencer says, quiet and calm, but there's a bitchy tilt to his mouth that makes Bob want to...do something. "I move a lot of shit around."

Bob blinks and gets his brain back on track--a track that does not include staring at Spencer's mouth. "The drum accessories. The hardware is all over the place now."

"No, the hardware is better organized now," Spencer says patiently, and that is seriously getting on Bob's last nerve. At least when Spencer's a little bitch to him, Bob doesn't feel the need to hold back. Spencer being calm and reasonable is fucking with Bob's head. "I cleared it with Patrick."

Bob vows to have a talk with Patrick about just what Spencer's responsibilities are around here, and what he is not allowed to do. Top of that list is move stuff around without Bob's permission.

Spencer stands up and Bob steps back. Spencer's eyebrow goes up and Bob is ready for a smart-assed comment, but all Spencer does is close his notebook and say, "Excuse me, my next student is here."

"Don't move anything else without talking to me first," Bob says and nods to the twelve-year-old hovering outside the doorway.

He spends the next hour staring at the closed door to the practice room and trying to think about anything else besides Spencer.

***

They're double booked and Patrick has the practice room, so Bob has to give a drum lesson on the sales floor. He would find this annoying except that it's a sign of success and what they'd been aiming for when he and Patrick opened the shop just six months ago.

Spencer is lurking around the edges of his awareness, helping customers and straightening the store and just generally being there. Bob tries to ignore him, but for some reason it's harder than usual. Even as he's talking to his student, asking her questions and listening to her answers, he can feel Spencer behind him.

"No, Kelly, you have loosen up your wrist," Bob says, and picks up a stick and shows her what he means. She nods and relaxes her grip. He reaches out to adjust her elbow slightly and says, "Now try it again."

He watches Kelly play for a moment and finds himself smiling at the improvement she's showing already. He leans in and says, "That's much better. I'm going to let you in on a little secret about drumming..." As Bob imparts his wisdom, he sees Spencer out of the corner of his eye. When he's done, he looks over to see Spencer watching him with an unreadable expression.

Bob finishes the lesson with a tight feeling across the back of his shoulders and then escapes into his office for the rest of the afternoon.

***

Jon comes strolling in one day wearing actual shoes and not joined at the hip with the scarf-and-vest kid. Bob immediately says, "Spencer's not here. It's his day off."

"I know," Jon says and glances around the shop with an interested look on his face. "I need a new pickup for my bass."

"What brand are you looking for?" Bob asks as he comes out from behind the counter. When Jon says he wants Fender, Bob turns around and goes back to the counter. "All I've got right now is a set of the Jazz pickups. I'm out of the Original Precision, and I'm guessing that's the one you want."

"Good guess," Jon says with an easy smile. He shoves his hands in his pockets as he leans against the counter giving every indication that he's settling in for a good long while.

Bob just blinks at him and turns to the computer. "Did you need it right away? I can order you one but it'll be a few days before I get it in."

"No, I can wait. You should give Spencer a chance."

Unsure he heard correctly, Bob whips his head around and says, "What?"

"I said I don't need the pickup this very minute. Go ahead and order it," Jon says, flipping through a stack of fliers for various local shows.

"Okay, but I meant the other thing." Bob stares at the top of Jon's head until he looks up with a faint smile.

"You should give Spencer a chance. He's a good guy and a very good drummer."

"I know," Bob says before he can stop himself. This is all so very high school that he wants to punch somebody in the face, possibly himself for somehow getting into it. He shakes his head and pulls up an order form on the computer. He fills it out with way more concentration than he needs and then says, "Check back on Friday. We should have it by then."

"Sure thing, Bob." Jon waves a couple fingers as he ambles out of the shop, and Bob curses under his breath. Now, thanks to Jon, he's thinking about Spencer even when he's not here.

Thinking about his hips and picturing his mouth and remembering the skill with which he played the drums. Yeah. Bob sighs and suspects that he might just be a little...

Completely fucked.

***

Bob is finishing up with a student when he notices Spencer talking to a customer--well, being talked _at_ by a customer is more like it-- over by the drum kits on display. Bob nods at the kid and says, "Yeah, just keep practicing," but he's barely listening any more because he's caught by the expression on Spencer's face. It's the same unimpressed look that he gives Bob all the time, except without any of the underlying humor and a lot more suppressed rage. After Bob waves his student away, he wanders over so that he can hear what's going on.

"Aren't there any adults around here that I could talk to?" The customer is a middle-aged man and there's a boy of about sixteen lurking just behind him, every line of his body screaming abject embarrassment. "I'm sure you're a nice kid and all, but you couldn't possibly know what you're talking about."

Bob moves a few steps closer, but a sideways glance from Spencer stops him in his tracks. Spencer smiles brightly--such fake politeness that it makes Bob's face ache in sympathy--and says, "Oh, I am so sorry, sir. I didn't know you were an expert on drums. How long have you been playing?"

The interested head-tilt is a good touch, Bob thinks approvingly, as the man sputters and says, "I don't play myself. My son is interested."

"Oh, really? Well, I've been playing for ten years and I've been working at this store and giving lessons for several months." Bob forgives him the slight exaggeration of his time on the job when Spencer moves in for the kill. "So. I feel confident that I can answer any question you might have."

While the customer is coming up with his reply, Bob wanders over and says, "Hey dude, I need a new mount for my kit."

Spencer narrows his eyes slightly and then shoots back, "What do you need? 3-hole platform mount, basic grabber clamp, L-rod attachment?"

Bob rubs his jaw and pretends to consider the question. "I was thinking maybe a ball joint extension arm. You got anything like that?"

Spencer arches an eyebrow and says smoothly, "I have exactly one in stock at the moment. It's a Gibraltar and it's on sale this week for nineteen dollars."

"Nineteen?" Bob says as if he's shocked at the expense.

"List price is 26.95. It's a pretty good deal."

Bob suddenly "notices" the customer and his son and says, "Oh, uh, sorry, didn't know you were busy. I'll just go browse or something until you're free." He wanders away and pretends to shop in his own store while keeping an ear on the conversation between Spencer and his apologetic customer.

After Spencer has sold the man a basic kit, signed his son up for classes, and got them on their way, Bob goes behind the counter and pats Spencer on the back. "Good job handling that jackass."

"Thanks," Spencer says, his gaze following Bob's hand as he draws it away.

"I almost made something up just to see if you'd roll with it, but I was afraid the guy would ask to see one."

"We would have magically been out of stock on that particular item. Whatever it might have been." A genuinely amused smile belies Spencer's grave tone, and Bob gets an extremely-unlike-him urge to kiss Spencer.

Wait...what? He can barely tolerate the kid--who is not a kid, okay, but whatever. There is no fucking way that Bob wants to _kiss_ him. Pushing Spencer up against the counter and burying his hands in Spencer's shiny hair and licking his mouth open are definitely not things that Bob is thinking about doing.

At all.

Bob shoves his hands in his pockets and ignores the way Spencer is _looking_ at him and _smiling_ at him and... oh yeah, Bob is pretty much fucked and now he knows it for sure. It's no longer an uncomfortable suspicion but a full blown fact.

Now he just has to ignore the urge, hope Spencer never notices, and wait for it to go away.

The door opens and when Spencer turns to greet the customers coming in, Bob sneaks away to the office. He shuts the door very quietly and when Patrick looks up from whatever he's working on, Bob says, "Don't ask. Just don't even fucking ask."

***

It is getting increasingly more common to see the stoners and Brendon hanging around the shop when Spencer is working but not actively giving lessons. They'll all be clustered together in a corner talking in low voices and sometimes Ryan will be picking on a guitar.

Bob tries to ignore them, but occasionally will walk by and say, "Don't you guys have something better to do than hang around here?"

To which Spencer usually says, "No."

And the others shoot him apologetic looks before dismissing him and going back to whatever they were discussing.

So Bob goes back to work and tries not to have inappropriate thoughts about Spencer. He gets it down to about twice a day instead of every fifteen minutes, by just ignoring Spencer's existence as much as possible. He counts this as success and ignores the confused little glances that Spencer gives him sometimes.

 

***

 

Patrick looks at Bob one Saturday afternoon and says, "Seriously, Bob. What the hell is wrong with you?"

"What? Nothing," Bob says, and he knows he sounds too grouchy but he can't do anything about it.

"You need to go out," Patrick says, and Bob would swear he's been keeping the counter between them all day. "Have a couple drinks, get laid, just fucking relax for once before you snap and kill someone for wanting to buy the wrong drumsticks or something."

"That guy was a fucking idiot--"

"That guy was a customer and you need to fucking--gah. I don't know what you need, but you'd better figure it out." Patrick takes his glasses off and rubs his eyes. When he puts them back on he sighs and says, "Call Brian or somebody. Go somewhere that is not this shop or your apartment."

Bob wants to argue, but he knows he'd just be arguing for the sake of arguing and Patrick has a good point. He does need to get away and let off some steam.

Bob shuts himself up in the office and calls Brian. "What are you doing tonight? Got any unbreakable plans?"

"No," Brian says. "What's up?"

"Wanna go out somewhere?"

"Did you have anything specific in mind or--"

"No, I don't know. Some place with decent music and beer that's not watered down."

"I've got a friend who just opened a club--The Blue Carolina--and I was thinking of checking it out tonight."

"That'll do. You want me to meet you there?"

So they agree on a time and Bob writes down the address, and he even leaves work early and lets Patrick close the shop. He's going to fucking relax if it fucking kills him.

***

Bob takes a cab because he plans on being in no shape to drive later, and Brian is already waiting on the sidewalk. He comes over to meet Bob and then leads him past the long line of people waiting to get in. The guy on the door says, "Hey, what's up, Schechter?" with a slight lisp and waves them on through.

Once inside, Brian heads straight for the bar and waves at a guy in a black suit and yells, "Matt!"

Matt says something to the bartender and points at Brian and Bob. When the bartender nods, Matt comes out from behind the bar and greets Brian with a hug.

"I thought you were never gonna come see my place," Matt says chidingly, not letting go of Brian's shoulders and looking deep into his eyes.

Brian grins and shrugs as he says, "Well, you know how it is. This is my friend, Bob."

Matt tilts his head and says, "Mm hmm. Drinks are on the house. Just see Derek--" he waves at the bartender he just spoke to "--and he'll take care of you."

Matt leans in again and says something in Brian's ear and Bob is amused when a faint blush spreads across Brian's cheekbones. When Matt pulls away, he holds out his hand to Bob and says, "Nice to meet you, Bob. Have a great time tonight."

Before he goes, he points at Brian and says, "You. Come find me later."

Brian nods and then elbows Bob in the gut. "Shut up."

"I didn't say anything," Bob protests but he's laughing for the first time in what seems like weeks and it feels good.

Brian rolls his eyes at him and heads over to the bar and orders them both a beer.

Once they're both halfway into their drinks, Brian pokes Bob in the arm and says, "Okay, spill."

"What?"

"What? I haven't heard from you in three weeks and suddenly you want to go out."

"Has it been three weeks? Really?" Bob is honestly shocked because he and Brian usually talk every few days--if not an actual conversation just texting or e-mailing stupid shit to each other.

"Yeah, about that. What's going on?"

"Nothing. I just...I guess I've been preoccupied." Bob shifts uncomfortably, thinking of Spencer and how _not_ thinking about Spencer has been one of his main occupations lately. "Just, you know, work stuff."

Brian nods and sips his beer and changes the subject, for which Bob is profoundly grateful.

 

***

Coming back from the bathroom, Bob ventures a little closer to the dance floor than he usually gets. He slows down and watches for a while, kind of momentarily mesmerized by the flash and sway of bodies. He's not completely drunk, but everything is just a little hazy around the edges and he feels all warm and relaxed.

Until a flash of white catches his eye and he focuses in on--Spencer. What the fuck. That is Spencer wearing a white shirt that Bob can practically see through and jeans that are doing amazing things for his ass, and he's dancing. With a guy. Well, if one can call that sliding and _grinding_ they're doing dancing. The guy--who is older than Bob--has his hands on Spencer's hips. He's feeling up Spencer's _hips_ right there on the dance floor for everyone to see and he's way too old and what the fuck.

Bob doesn't even realize what he's going to do until he's already marched up and pulled the guy's hand off Spencer's hip. Maybe in surprise or maybe in fear because he got a good look at Bob's expression, the guy stumbles back and holds up both hands in a gesture of making peace. He melts into the crowd and Bob instantly dismisses him as a threat.

Spencer spins around and yells, "What the fuck?" His glare goes from angry to angry and confused. "Bob?"

"What are you doing?" Bob yells and seriously, why is Spencer angry? He's the one who's wearing eyeliner and glitter and dancing with a guy old enough to be his dad. "Letting that pervert touch you!"

"Pervert? What the hell are you talking about?" Spencer yells back, and Bob is vaguely aware that a circle of space is opening up around them and he doesn't even care.

"That guy is way too old for you." Bob narrows his eyes. "You're not even old enough to be here. He's like a child molester."

"I'm 21, you dick! I'm not a child and I'll fuck whoever I want to." Spencer shoves Bob back a step and stomps away, yelling, "Fuck off!" as he goes.

"Spencer!" Bob yells but Spencer just flips him off and keeps going. He takes a step to follow and Brian is suddenly there, wrapping an arm across Bob's chest.

"Bob, stop. Just hang on a minute." Brian leads Bob off the dance floor to a relatively quiet booth in a corner where Matt is sipping on a cocktail and watching everything with sharp eyes.

"Everything all right?" Matt asks, looking between Brian and Bob curiously.

"That's what I'm going to find out," Brian says, shoving Bob onto the seat with a little more force than absolutely necessary in Bob's opinion.

"Why don't I give you a minute?" Matt says and then he's gone and Brian is sliding into his seat and staring across the table at Bob.

"What was that all about?" Brian asks, leaning his elbows on the table.

"That guy was way too old to be touching Spencer."

"He was thirty at most," Brian says with a skeptical look.

"Spencer is just a kid--"

"He can't be that young. Dan is very careful about checking IDs."

"He's 21," Bob mumbles.

"So, five years younger than you?" Now Brian is grinning. "Oh, yeah, he's a baby."

"Shut up." Bob motions to the beer in front of him and says, "This yours?"

At Brian's nod, Bob picks it up and drains the glass. "I'm not nearly drunk enough for this."

"You sure about that?"

Bob drops his face in his hands and lets out a growly sigh of frustration. When he looks up again, he says, "I came out to get my mind off Spencer. Not pick a fight with him."

"Well, that was a stunning failure then," Brian says cheerfully, because he is a bastard and Bob has no idea why they are even friends.

"Yeah," Bob sighs again. He needs more beer. A lot more beer.

***

 

Brian shares Bob's cab and makes sure he gets in his apartment okay, even though Bob keeps insisting that he's not that drunk. "Yeah, I know, buddy," is all Brian says as he takes Bob's keys and unlocks the door for him.

Once inside, he shoves Bob toward his bedroom and disappears into the kitchen. Bob strips off his shirt and shoes and then gives up, falling face first onto the bed with a frustrated groan. He looks up when Brian comes in and sets a glass of water on his bedside table.

"Drink that," Brian says, a little bossily and then adds, "Do you need help getting your jeans off?"

"Not from you," Bob says and pulls a pillow over his face.

"Whatever you say. I'm leaving now, so if you need anything call Patrick or somebody. I'm going to be too busy getting fucked to come hold your hair while you puke."

"Have fun." Bob waves a hand feebly in the direction that Brian is probably in but doesn't pull the pillow off his face until he hears the front door close. He flops over onto his back and shoves the pillow under his head and really wishes Brian hadn't mentioned fucking.

Bob has not been able to stop thinking about Spencer since he saw him at the club, and now he's thinking about fucking. And Spencer. Spencer and fucking. Fucking Spencer.

With a groan he gives up and shoves off his jeans. Visions of Spencer dance in his head--Spencer with his eyeliner and his glitter-dusted cheeks flushed pink and that thin white shirt creeping up over his back revealing a strip of skin that Bob longs to touch. He wants to feel how warm and smooth it is and slide his hand down over those stupidly tight jeans, cup his fingers around the curve of Spencer's ass and pull him in close.

Those jeans look so good on Spencer but they'd look even better in a heap on the floor, and that ridiculous thought is the one that gets Bob's hand inside his boxers. He doesn't want to jerk off thinking about Spencer--he's pulled himself back from doing it so many times already--but he's still kind of drunk and Spencer's hips were _insane_, moving to the beat of the music and grinding up on that guy and Bob does not dance but damn if he didn't wish for a second that he did. He's still jealous as all fuck of that guy who had his hands on Spencer's hips. Bob's hands would fit perfectly around the curves of Spencer's hipbones, the tips of his fingers digging into his ass, his thumbs tugging on Spencer's waistband, pulling his jeans lower and lower revealing his skin a tiny sliver at a time until Bob loses all patience and just drops to his knees and drags them down so he can get at Spencer's dick.

Bob's hand tightens on his own dick as he thinks about the hot little noises Spencer would make while Bob sucked him off, how he wouldn't be able to keep from thrusting into Bob's mouth and Bob would have to hold those busy hips still and then he'd just flip Spencer over and fuck him. Bob slides his hand up the length of his dick, and thinks about Spencer taking it all and begging for more.

"Fuck," Bob mutters as he pumps his hand so fast it's a blur and then he's coming on his stomach. He falls asleep a moment or two later, sticky and relaxed but not completely satisfied.

***

When Bob goes into work on Monday, he thinks that maybe he'll apologize to Spencer. Or at least be nice to him in compensation for Saturday night. He feels guilty for making Spencer so mad and then jerking off over him. One or the other wouldn't have been as bad, but the combination pricks at Bob's conscience.

When Spencer comes in for his first lesson at noon, Bob says, "Hey, Spencer, how's it going?"

Spencer just gives him a dirty look and goes into the practice room, so Bob decides that maybe Spencer needs some time to get over it.

As days go by with this same pattern repeating--Bob being extra friendly and Spencer being extra cold, Patrick gives them both confused looks but otherwise stays out of it.

Bob would tell him if he asked, but he's glad Patrick doesn't. It's kind of embarrassing and he doesn't want Patrick mad at him too. He's already got Spencer's friends giving him reproachful looks when he stops in to get coffee or when they come into the shop.

After about a week and a half of being nice not getting him anywhere with Spencer, Bob decides that the only thing to do is suck it up and apologize, admit he was a dick so they can move on. Maybe they can get back to the somewhat-friendly place they'd been in before. He goes into work with resolve and a full schedule, so it's nearly two in the afternoon when he gets a break between lessons and realizes Spencer never came in, even though this is one of usual days to work.

Patrick is giving a drum lesson, which is weird, so as soon as the student leaves, Bob corners Patrick in the practice room. "That was one of Spencer's kids. Where is he?"

Patrick looks up in surprise from where he's getting his stuff organized. "He needed a few days off to get ready for the show on Saturday."

"What show?" Bob asked, confused and annoyed that there's apparently stuff going on that he had no idea about.

"Didn't he tell you?" At Bob's expression of imminent violence, Patrick hurries to say, "His band is opening for Raygun Jones at The Blue Carolina."

"He has a band?" Bob asks, starting to feel a little stupid.

"Yeah, with Brendon, Jon, and Ryan. That's why they've been hanging around a lot more lately." Patrick frowns and pauses before adding, "You really didn't know? I thought he invited you to go see them when he asked me."

"No. No, he didn't," Bob says quietly.

"What did you do?" Patrick asks, eyes narrowed, shoulders tense.

"It's going to sound so stupid when I say it out loud."

"Tell me anyway."

So Bob tells him all about that Saturday night, skipping the jerking off part because that is none of Patrick's business.

"You're right," Patrick says with a firm nod and a frown. "That does sound stupid."

Bob rolls his eyes at him and sighs a little. "So how do I fix it?"

"You can go with me to the show and tell him you're sorry?"

"I wasn't invited."

"You can be my plus one."

"What about Pete?"

"Pete will understand. And he can get in anyway." This is definitely true. Pete seems to have the uncanny ability to go anywhere he wants to, as long as music is somehow involved.

"Okay," Bob says, and then realizes this is where the hard part begins. Figuring out what the fuck he's going to say.

***

When Bob and Patrick arrive at the club on Saturday night, the first person Bob sees that he knows is Brian, propped up against the bar with Matt whispering something in his ear. Or sniffing his hair, Bob can't really tell from this distance.

"Oh, there's Pete," Patrick says, waving at the man in question across the room. "Are you okay if I go...?"

Bob just nods because he doesn't need a baby-sitter, and goes over to talk to Brian.

"Bob!" Brian exclaims with a grin. "I didn't expect to see you here. Wait, isn't that kid from your shop in the opening band?"

"Yeah, I had to make sure we were being well represented. Can't have a drum teacher who's shitty at playing live, right?"

"So he's not mad at you anymore then?" Brian asks, taking a sip of his beer.

Bob shrugs and Brian gives him a knowing look. Bob turns to Matt and says, "Hey, good to see you again."

"Likewise. Can I get you a drink?" Matt says with a small smile and Bob finally notices that the hand not holding his drink is on Brian's ass.

"Um, sure, whatever Brian's having is fine." He briefly wishes he'd phrased that differently, but it's too late now.

Matt turns his head to make eye contact with the bartender without moving away from Brian and says, "Derek, can I get another, please?"

Derek slides a glass of beer in front of Bob and waves him off when Bob reaches for his wallet. "Thanks, man," Bob says with a nod, never one to turn down free beer.

As the floor starts to fill up, Matt leans over Brian and tells Bob, "You should have a good view from right here if you don't want to join the crush."

Bob looks questioningly at Brian because he doesn't want to intrude on what is obviously a date, but Brian just smiles like Bob is welcome to stay. Bob nods and says, "Cool."

After a while Matt looks at his watch and says, "Show time." Then he gives Brian a squeeze and disappears into the crowd. Several minutes later, the music on the PA cuts off and the spotlights on the stage come on. Matt steps out and a few cheers go up from the crowd on the floor.

Matt leans into the microphone and says, "Come on, Chicago, I know you can fucking do better than that."

The cheers turn into a wave of screams and whistles and Matt grins as he waves the band on and says, "Give it up for Panic! at the Disco."

Spencer counts off the beat and they rip into the first song which seems to be something about a shotgun wedding. Bob's not even sure what Brendon's singing about but he sounds all right doing it. Then the second song starts and Brendon's all growly and singing about being a hotter fuck and whoa, that kid's got some pipes.

Bob has to drag his attention away from the way Brendon--sweet little Brendon who comes in his shop all the time and Bob didn't even know he could sing--is dominating the small stage. He takes note that both Jon and Ryan seem focused and not stoned at all, and they're good too. But then he locks in on Spencer and can't look at anyone else for the rest of the set.

Despite what he said to Brian, Bob knew that Spencer could play. Deep down, he always knew it even before he heard him, just because he trusts Patrick's judgment in all things musical (boyfriends, on the other hand, not quite as much). But it's one thing to hear him playing a little around the shop and something entirely different to hear him up on stage where he belongs.

Spencer is really talented--his whole band is--and he's not going to stick around giving drum lessons to middle school kids much longer. Success is going to happen for these kids. Bob can see it coming from a million miles away.

When their set is over, Patrick and Pete join Bob at the bar and Patrick says, "Come on, let's go backstage and tell Spencer what a good job he did."

Bob starts to ask if they'll be allowed back, but realizes that's stupid. He's got so many ins here that it's kind of ridiculous.

"Hey, I'll talk to you later. I wanna check these guys out," Brian says and moves off into the crowd to get closer to the stage.

Bob follows Patrick and Pete backstage and into a dressing room where Spencer and his band are grinning at each other like they just won the lottery. They're all sweaty and breathless and Brendon flings himself into Patrick's arms for a hug as the other guys crowd around all talking and laughing at once. Bob steps off to the side, almost feeling like he's intruding, and then Spencer's in front of him, beaming and asking, "Did you see? That was our first show and we killed it."

Bob grins back and says, "You so fucking killed it. You were amazing, Spencer."

"Really?" Spencer asks eagerly, his eyes wide. When Bob nods, he says, "Thanks, Bob."

He throws his arms around Bob's neck and tugs him into a crushing hug, and Bob's mind goes completely blank except for one word..._finally_. He's been wanting this for so long--wanting it and fighting it and lying to himself that he didn't--Spencer's warm body pressed up against his, Spencer's breath on his neck, Spencer's strong arms pulling him closer. When Spencer pulls back a little, Bob doesn't stop to think about what he's doing, he just kisses Spencer, slow and warm and gentle. Then Spencer opens his mouth and kisses Bob back and it is nothing like gentle. It's hungry and dirty and Bob thinks he could probably do this for the rest of the night, just this, just get lost in Spencer's mouth, in the energy thrumming through his body, for hours.

But way too soon, Spencer is pulling back and frowning. "Fuck this. I'm still mad at you for being such a fucking asshole a couple weeks ago."

"I'm sorry about that. That's why I came tonight, to apologize. I didn't mean, I was drunk and you were hot and that guy was all over you and I couldn't stand it." The words tumble out of Bob's mouth, low and intense and sincere, and he's horrified to hear himself giving so much away.

Spencer keeps frowning but he looks confused, conflicted, like he doesn't know what to make of Bob's explosive honesty either. Before Spencer can say anything, Ryan calls his name and he goes back over to where the rest of the group are talking about going out to the bar for drinks.

Bob slips out before anyone notices and goes back to the front of the club. He listens to about half of a song from the headlining band before giving up and going home.

***

 

Bob goes home and turns on the TV for background noise while he contemplates just how badly he's screwed things up with Spencer. There was never supposed to be any _thing_ with Spencer, so really what did he lose? Another chance to kiss Spencer, for one, because now that Bob has done it, he wants to do it again. A lot.

Most of his objections to Spencer in general have been disproven. As Brian pointed out, he's not really too young. Bob's dated guys younger than himself before. And Spencer himself said that Bob is not really his boss since Patrick hired him and signs his paychecks. Bob takes a minute to pat himself on the back for shoving payroll off onto Patrick. After tonight, Bob is pretty sure that Spencer's not going to be working at the shop much longer anyway. Why would he keep giving lessons and working retail when he can go off and do what he was clearly meant to do?

Bob might as well file Spencer under Could Have Been in his memory and just move on. Maybe Brian could introduce him to some new people. He seems to know everyone. Being set up would probably suck, but it might be better than being alone all the time. Bob is pretty happy keeping to himself most of the time, but he would like some of the things you only get from another person sometimes--kissing, touching, mutual orgasms. Someone to share little inside jokes with, who will listen to him talk about his crappy day and understand when he geeks out over finding a pristine copy of an album he's been looking for for ages. Somebody to hold onto in the middle of the night when he can't sleep but doesn't want to get back up.

Bob resigns himself to the fact that Spencer'd probably never want any of that anyway and picks up the remote and starts flipping through channels. He's halfway through a marathon of American Chopper reruns when there's a knock at his door.

He looks out the peephole before answering and is surprised to find Spencer standing outside. He opens the door and wants to say 'what the fuck do you want?' but all he says is, "Hello, Spencer."

"Hey, Bob. I wanted to...um." Spencer looks up and down the hallway and then raises an eyebrow at Bob. "Can I come in for a minute?"

Bob steps back and opens the door wide enough for Spencer to enter. After he shuts it, he stands in front of the couch and watches Spencer for a moment.

As if he's forgotten whatever he wanted to say, Spencer heads straight over to Bob's record collection and starts pulling out albums and damn near _cooing_ over them. Bob doesn't know what to think about that, but he finds it a little arousing in any case.

Bob clears his throat and Spencer looks over at him sheepishly. He slides the album in his hands back into place and clutches his hands in front of him. His hip is cocked slightly and Bob wonders if it's an unconscious move to give Spencer confidence or something.

"So, do you want me to apologize again or what?" Bob asks, just to get the ball rolling. Maybe if he makes an effort, Spencer will get this over with and leave Bob in peace.

"No." Spencer stares at Bob with wide eyes for a moment before looking down at his hands. "I think maybe I...I'm not really all that mad any more. I mean, I shouldn't have called you an asshole. You were an overprotective jerk at worst. Talking to Jon made me realize that maybe you thought you were looking out for me so your intentions were good."

Bob nods and admits, "Well, jealousy. I don't know if that really counts as good intentions."

Spencer licks his lips and then smiles as he walks over to stand in front of Bob, his eyes bright with something Bob is almost afraid to name because what if he's wrong and Spencer just wants to punch him or something? "You were jealous of some other guy touching me? Did you want to be in his place?"

Bob swallows hard and decides to just go with the truth. "Yeah. I did--do. I still do."

Spencer nods like Bob's just confirming what he already thought and tilts his head a little to one side. "So why don't you go for it now? Or do you only want to do it in a roomful of people?"

What Bob wants is to kiss the smirk right off his face, and so he leans closer--slowly to give Spencer time to change his mind. Spencer meets him halfway, his lips already parted. Bob keeps his eyes open while he kisses Spencer, watching for any sign that Spencer doesn't want this or has changed his mind in any way.

After a moment, Spencer pulls back and says, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Bob says. "Why?"

"You were really into it at the club and now you're acting like you think I'm gonna break. I am not going to break," Spencer says slowly and distinctly, and there's a bitchy tilt to his mouth that drives Bob crazy, so he puts his hands on Spencer's hips and kisses him like he's been longing to for weeks.

Spencer wraps his arms around Bob's shoulders and kisses back and it's just as good as at the club earlier. It's even better because there's nobody else around and Spencer moans a little into Bob's mouth when he pulls Spencer's hips against his and Bob finally allows himself to think that he could really have this. At least for one night, he could have Spencer.

When Bob lets his hands drift a little further back, his fingertips brushing Spencer's ass, Spencer pulls back and says, "There's just one thing you need to know. I don't do one night stands. If you want to fuck me, you have to date me and I don't put out on the first date."

"I don't have a problem with that," Bob says, already envisioning fucking Spencer and thinking it'll totally be worth the extra effort.

And if he's lucky, he might end up getting everything else he wants too.

 

The end.

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to Nemoinis for reading this, giving me plot points, and basically being awesome. Everything I know about instruments and equipment, I learned mostly from wikipedia and google, so there you go. Title chosen at the last possible moment so it only sort of fits. Whatever. I suck at titles. I know this.


End file.
